Heart of the Volcano

by Imogen Howson

  “Are you sure? You’re—I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She couldn’t speak. She nodded.

  He didn’t say anything else, but his hands shook as he helped her drag his tunic off. She looked at him and lost her breath again, throat catching, heart stalling. She’d seen men naked before—the runners in the races every midwinter of her childhood, and later, of course, the sacrifices—but this…

  After a second she realized he’d laid his cloak out to carpet the ground. She knelt, put her hands to her dress, and stuck, her own hands suddenly shaking, unable to make the next move.

  He knelt beside her, his hands warm on her bare arms, and she went dizzy at his nearness, at his naked body so close to hers. “Aera, if you don’t want—”

  “I do.” Her voice came out as a whisper. “I do want, but I can’t—” She stopped, swallowed, then dragged her gaze up to his. “I’m sure. I’m more than sure, but you’ll have to do it for me.”

  His hands slid down to the thin fabric, and she shivered, a mixture of fear and ridiculous embarrassment, wanting to stop him, wanting to help him, wanting him to kiss her and stop her thinking.

  Then he did kiss her, his hands warm on her body through the dress, then warm on her skin, the dress crumpled and disregarded behind her, and there was no more fear or embarrassment, just his hands spreading warmth all through her, his smell and taste making her dizzy all over again.

  The cloak didn’t spread all that far. Maybe later she would find grazes on her elbow, shoulder, hip, where they’d scraped against the rough ground, but right now she hardly noticed. All she felt was Coram’s skin on hers, the planes of his body under her hands, his fingers on her waist, then, as she gasped, her breasts, her thighs.

  He eased her down onto the cloak, bracing himself above her, moved closer still, as close as she’d wanted him, closer…

  Pain thrust through her, sudden, shocking. She drew in her breath, tensing all over.

  He froze. “I’m hurting you.”

  “No, no.” Automatically, her hands had spread against him, halting him. She relaxed them now, deliberately, letting her breath sigh out. “It’s all right. Coram—”

  He moved again, and again her breath hissed through her teeth. But he was even closer now, sliding against her, inside her, so close it was as if they moved as one, merged into one substance, and underneath the pain pleasure began to hum. Like when she’d first been learning to wield her gift, and it had hurt her, had seemed as if it would burn her. She’d been scared, but she’d gritted her teeth, she’d got through it, and as the pain ebbed the heat and power had built and built…

  “Is it still all right?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  He slid out a little, and she clutched at him—no, don’t go—then came back, even closer than before. It became a rhythm, like a heartbeat, like the rhythm of the tide, like the pulse of lava rising within the volcano.

  But unlike her gift, unlike the training she’d gone through, with this the last edge of pain was something to grit her teeth against not because she had to, not because it was the god’s will, but because as it ebbed it was replaced by building warmth and heat and—

  “Oh. Oh.”

  —and ecstasy.

  Chapter Four

  Unnoticed by either of them, the light had faded, and now the day’s heat and glare softened into warm shadows like silk. They lay, sweat-damp, on Coram’s cloak, her head on his arm, his free hand tucked under her waist, holding her close to him. She slid her fingers up over his chest, feeling the hair that would disappear when he shifted, feeling his skin, feeling the heartbeat that quickened under her fingertips.

  She said nothing. There was nothing left to say, nothing that would change what she could bear to do. In a minute—she knew it, could almost hear the words forming—he would ask her again to come with him. This time it would be worse to say no, this time it would tear her apart to voice it, tear him apart to hear it, and still she must say it, still she must tell him goodbye.

  “Aera…”

  She tensed, waiting.

  He brushed a kiss onto her hairline. “How long before they release the lava?”

  He hadn’t asked. She tilted her head to see his face, and he was watching her, his eyes unguarded and gentle. He wasn’t going to ask. He knew what she’d have to say, and he wasn’t going to make it worse for her by making her say it.

  “At dawn,” she said. “The grille will open before—you must go then, while it’s still dark, while they won’t see you.”

  “I know.” His arm tightened about her. “Listen. I’m going to go north, towards the mountains. If I pass anywhere where the people worship kinder gods, I’ll leave messages for you.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “If. If you can ever leave. If you ever—” He stopped, swallowed. “I’ll never stop waiting for you.”

  That’s too much to expect of him. I should say no, tell him to forget me, tell him that he’s free, if he meets another girl, if she loves him…

  I can’t. I can’t do that. I should, but I—it’s too much, I can’t do it…

  “Do you really think there’s somewhere?” she said instead. “Somewhere where they don’t hunt out unholy gifts? Or where all gifts are holy?”

  His face was grim. “The whole world cannot be as insane as ours, Aera.”

  Maybe it is, just in different ways. But she wouldn’t say that, didn’t even want to think it. I have to believe there’s somewhere he’ll be safe. Somewhere I can picture him, when I’m alone here, with nothing but the priests and the fire.

  She moved closer, leaning her head on his chest. “Yes, leave me messages. If I’m ever free, I’ll come.”

  He didn’t speak, but his cheek pressed into her hair and she knew that, like her, he wasn’t saying all the desperate, hopeless thoughts storming through his mind. They lay still as the last of the daylight soaked away into darkness and the stars came out, stirring only to drink from the water-pot and wash a little, using the edge of his tunic as a cloth.

  A while later Aera woke out of a sleep she hadn’t realized had overtaken her, woke sobbing, fighting down the words she couldn’t bear to say. Don’t leave me. I can’t let you go.

  He woke too, with a start, his hands tightening on her. “What’s wrong? What is it?” Then, as she sobbed on his chest, grief and comfort flared again into something else and his breathing stuttered, his hands clasped around her waist to pull her over him, and she was arching against his body, tears evaporating from her heating skin, tasting salt on her—and his—lips. There was less pain this time, but the ecstasy was muted, too, overlaid by desperation, the knowledge that no matter how close he was it could never be enough, never enough to stave off the coming separation.

  Afterwards, she felt the too-familiar tears rising once more, but she wouldn’t inflict her own suffering on him again. She stifled them, pressing her face against his neck, breathing in his scent, trying to stamp every detail into her memory so she’d never forget him, so she’d always have something of him to hold onto. Eventually they slept again, holding each other so close that when she woke, in the slight lightening of darkness that came before the dawn, her arm was all pins and needles and the leg she’d been lying on so numb she couldn’t immediately scramble to her feet.

  As she scrabbled to get her dress on, the sound that had woken her came again. A grating, cacophonous sound, the noise of each segment of the grille opening on its huge hinges, rising like cumbersome petals.

  Coram snapped awake, his eyes black holes in the pre-dawn shadows that surrounded them. “Is it coming?”

  “No. We’ll hear it. But it’ll be soon—you have to go before it gets lighter.”

  “I know.” He stood, wrapping his tunic back around himself. “Aera, I keep trying to think… What if the priests believe I’ve kidnapped you? That wouldn’t be your fault.”

  She looked up at him. “Oh, Coram, they’d never believe it. They must know we were childhood fr
iends. And—” in spite of everything, she found herself laughing, “—look at yourself. They’d never believe I needed kidnapping to go with you.”

  “Aera.” He came towards her and she reached for him without even meaning to. “There has to be some way. I can’t—”

  “Don’t. Please. I’ve thought, too, and it doesn’t help. It just—” It hurts too much to even think about it, to even try to find another way. The more we try to hold onto hope, the worse it feels every time we come up against the fact there is none, this is it, it’s over…

  A sudden rumble shook the air, thunder vibrating up through her feet, making the dust and crumbs of lava jump and shiver. The sluice is open, the lava’s coming! But Coram still stood, his tunic half-tied, his hands in hers. He hadn’t shifted. He wouldn’t be able to fly.

  “Coram. Change. Change.” All coherence deserted her. She couldn’t put the words together properly, couldn’t get them to come out. The lava’s coming, you have to escape!

  But he heard it too. He stepped away, braced himself, and again the normal, human colour of brown skin and black hair drained from him, leaving him muted, chalky, the stone taking over and his wings springing huge from his shoulder blades.

  Again she was caught, transfixed by how beautiful he was. How can anyone say this is unclean? How could anyone want to destroy it?

  She reached for him, one last time, and his stone arms came round her, encircling her, cold and gentle, and his stone face looked down at her. Flat grey though they were, she thought she could read expression in his eyes, and her gaze clung to his as she tried to memorize this last sight of him, tried to make it something carved into her memory, unchanging, uncrumbling, something that would stay with her when he’d gone.

  Back in the labyrinth, a roar came, echoing, magnified by the whorled passages. It hit her in the pit of her stomach, in her chest so her lungs tightened, cutting off the air.

  “Go,” she said. “Go now.”

  He let go of her, but didn’t move away.

  “Coram, you have to go!” Her voice went high, out of control. If he wouldn’t move, if he wouldn’t fly, she couldn’t make him, couldn’t help him—

  “I can’t leave you. I can’t do this.”

  “You have to.” She forced her voice to calmness. “You have to go before the lava reaches us. It’ll rise so quickly—” The image flooded her brain and the calmness broke. “Coram, I can’t see you die.”

  For a moment he stayed immobile and panic rose within her. If he won’t shift, how can I make him, how can I force him to? Then he shut his eyes, stone eyelids crinkling as all his muscles seemed to clench. He stepped back from her, and the huge wings flexed, lifting into the air. Dirt, dust, tiny sharp crumbs of hardened lava billowed, stinging, against her legs. Back in the labyrinth, again came the ravenous roar of the lava racing towards them.

  His wings swept downwards. Dust blew away in clouds, and he left the ground. He reached out, grazed her face with his cold touch, then he was out of reach, wings beating clouds of dust, stone grating on stone. He rose up the shaft of the eye, at first so big he blocked out the scant starlight, then silhouetted against the sky, a winged shape like a reverse constellation. Then nothing.

  He’d gone.

  No tears came. Just a weight like cold stone in her belly, a weakness that ran through her like the chill that comes with illness. Her hands were numb, as if they’d been left so long in one position they’d lost sensation. She moved them up towards her breast, and they moved like the hands of an old woman, cramped into claws.

  Then the grumbling roar of the lava exploded into a real roar, ear-shattering, bone-shaking, and she turned, clumsy with numbness, to see it exploding from the mouth of the labyrinth, a wave of fire, merciless and unstopping.

  She stared at it, shocked into stupidity, her skin already shrinking from the heat, the promise of more pain than anyone could feel and still survive. The lava. The lava.

  But here, instinct, reinforced by the long years of training, took over. As the first deadly splashes reached her, her body changed by itself, meeting the lava with its own, shifting in patches to match where the lava hit her, blazing through her, turning her invulnerable so fast that she’d opened her mouth to shriek in imagined pain before she realized it was done, she was safe. She hadn’t passed the first test, but she had the second.

  The lava bore her upwards, limp, unresisting, cold still beneath the fire, her mind flowing away as if it, too, were melting into the flood. The walls of the shaft flung reflections—a shimmer of amber, wine, blood—into her eyes, blinding her. Then, in a spray of flames, she was tossed up into the empty sky. For a moment she felt as if she flew, as if she too had wings, as if she could follow him…

  She fell in a rain of fire, showering onto stone, so hard and from so high that if she were still in human form she’d have been smashed to pieces on the rock. In this form, though, it was the rock that gave way under the impact of her body. She felt its surface melt as she hit it and when, after a moment, she pushed herself to her knees, she saw the imprint she’d made. Her first mark as a fire-priestess, burned smooth into the rock, just as she’d envisaged before the long night that had changed everything.

  When she stood, it was into thin grey light, the creeping edge of dawn. All around her lay puddles and streams of lava, glowing red, starting to pale at their edges as they lost heat to the chill of the pre-dawn air. Aera began to cool, too, the fire sinking away, back into just the merest thread of heat hidden in the marrow of her bones. Was that what it was like for him? Could he feel the stone waiting within him, always ready to take form?

  The thought held her still, frozen in the middle of her first step across the plateau, helpless under a strike of pain so sudden she didn’t have time to brace herself against it.

  She was alone. The plateau stretched away from her, cold and grey and unpeopled. The priests would not have risked themselves anywhere near. They would be watching from the temple walls, ready to greet her as she walked back to the entrance of the labyrinth. Down the hill, the city still slept, its narrow streets quiet and shadowed. Her family, sleeping, unaware, not knowing that she stood here, suddenly so lonely she had to force back the tears. I did it for them. It was worth it.

  It didn’t feel worth it.

  She hadn’t expected anyone to be here, of course. How stupid would I be to do so? They’d take their lives in their hands to come. But all the same, to face the test, to drown in lava—even though it was her own substance and she should have known better than to be afraid—to be hurled from the volcano and fall and fall towards a ground that would normally kill her, then to come out to nothing but this grey, silent emptiness…

  She’d been expecting the god to speak. Had expected to come forth from the tests glowing, with power both his and hers burning endlessly within her, lighting her path so she need never again feel uncertain or afraid.

  But like the priests, like her family, the god, too, was absent.

  It’s a punishment. It’s because I failed.

  Even as she thought the words she checked. I never felt the god. Not when I left my family for him. Not when I walked through the labyrinth, set on the path he’d chosen for me. Not when I, believing it was his will, tried to kill Coram. If there is a god—

  That thought knocked her back on her heels, heart pounding. She could not have thought that. To doubt the fact of the god, to doubt that her power came direct from him—

  Had she not always doubted that, though? Had she not always felt that her power was her own, a fire that sprang from her own bones, that had not descended from anywhere or anyone else? Had she not already, in the labyrinth with Coram, acknowledged that killing in the god’s name would still be murder? Had she not already realized that what the priests expected of her, and what they’d condemned Coram to, was wrong, was…evil?

  She drew in a breath, set her jaw, and deliberately completed the thought. If there is a god, the priests are wrong about him. He is n
ot directing my steps, he would not have me kill. Or—again her thoughts faltered, the rock under her feet seeming to shake as her world shifted—they are not wrong about him, and he is evil.

  How can I serve an evil god?

  The grey light changed. Away to the east, across the desert, a warmer shade of light edged upwards. Dawn, and the priests would have left the temple, would have come down to wait for her at the entrance to the labyrinth. One of them would be holding her new robes, spun of silk sent from the tropical forests to the south, dyed the pale gold of that new sun edging over the horizon, their edges scalloped and gilt-embroidered to symbolize the lava she wielded. Another would bring her knife, razor-edged, lethal but symbolic only—sign she controlled life and death. They would bow as she came down to them, lady of fire, second only to the god.

  It meant nothing. But she had no choice. She would have to let them hang the robes on her, have to accept the cold touch of the knife in her hand. If she did not, if she betrayed her calling now, if she rebelled, she would die, and her family would be dishonoured, and letting Coram go would have been for nothing.

  The sun throbbed higher in the sky, spilling light like water. Aera shut her eyes against the brightness, ignoring the stinging in them, letting it come from nothing but the dazzle of light, not thinking any more about how she could still turn her back on it all, how she could still step down into the shadows below the plateau, shadows that seemed to mark a pathway to the north…how, after all, she still could make a different choice.

  She left the plateau behind her. She turned into the light from the rising sun, turned east, not north, towards the temple and the entrance to the labyrinth.

  The robes felt cool against her skin, and should have felt light, too. But the embroidery made them heavy, the weight of the gold thread dragging the garment down to fall in even folds around her body. The knife was heavy too, and cold, as she’d known it would be, in her hand. But heaviest of all were the stares of the two high priests.